His Seductive Target (Afterlife, #2)

by Nichole Severn

  Rachel was gone.

  “Nika, get away from me.” Grayson’s bruising touch tightened around the back of her thighs. “Run. Now.”

  She couldn’t. Not with him holding her so tight. His legs gave out and he doubled over, chest nearly meeting his knees. She slipped from his arms, hitting the linoleum hard. The darkness in his eyes lingered around the edges, stark against his pale skin. His body shook as he collapsed to his knees. He wrapped his arms around himself. “Go! I can’t hold it off much longer.”

  Every ounce of anger and hatred she’d buried since getting the call about her sister’s murder bubbled to the surface. She gripped the Glock tight in her hand. Tears mixed with the emergency water on her cheeks. The assault of burning flesh and singed hair soured the lining of her esophagus. Rivets of water cascaded down his thick arms, the same dendritic patterns as the inhuman veins in that damn fingernail.

  She wrenched her arm back and slammed the butt of her gun into the side of Grayson’s head. The sickening crunch of steel meeting skull pierced through her, but he crumpled to the floor. Unconscious. Her feet refused to obey commands as she stood over him. She noted the slight twitch in his facial muscles as water pounded across his skin from the sprinklers. A rivulet of blood mixed with water and stretched from the back of his head across the tile. “I don’t run.”

  The vise around her ribcage released with each inhale until her body agreed to her brain’s directions. Nausea claimed her and she leaned against the steel table behind her. Don’t throw up. Don’t leave a trace. Smoke and the sharp scent of singed hair cleared her head. Her heart rate returned to normal. She had to get Grayson out of here. The evidence had already been destroyed, but the second Dr. Anderson woke, she’d peg him as her assailant and Nika couldn’t let that happen. They had a demon to hunt.

  Chapter Nine

  His pulse pounded behind his ears—too loud—but he sure as hell didn’t feel alive.

  His vision swam, head aching deeper and deeper each passing second. Son of a bitch, his body hurt. Grayson struggled to open his eyes. Too heavy. Too tired. His chin rested almost to his collarbones. A groan rumbled deep in his chest. He must’ve fallen asleep. But that didn’t make sense. The last thing he remembered...damn. His head was going to explode. Flexing his fingers, he worked to rub his hands over his face, but couldn’t move.

  Heels pressed to the floor, he tried again. His back had stiffened. He rolled his arms back, but still couldn’t force his arms to obey. Dizziness grabbed hold of him. A definitive blur took shape through the haze. Blonde hair, thin frame. His gut flipped. It was her. Had to be her. He fought to straighten, still unable to move his arms. “Nika?”

  Well, that sounded pathetic.

  “You’re awake. I was almost beginning to worry I’d put you in a coma.” Her voice, usually so confident and clear, coated with gravel. That wasn’t right.

  “What happened?” Dread coiled behind his ribcage. His ears rang as he rolled his head back. Too many breaths passed before his vision cleared. He locked his attention on her wild blue eyes to bring him back to earth, but something was off. Her eyes weren’t so wild anymore. Confusion simmered an ulcer in his stomach. Irises dull, facial expression gaunt, skin waxy, the sharp angles of her cheekbones more pronounced than he remembered. Dark circles had set up residence under her enthralling eyes. She sat relaxed in a chair opposite him, hand on her shoulder wound, but had never looked so exhausted. This wasn’t the Nika he’d spent the last day with. His gut clenched. And what had she said? Put him into a coma? “What do you mean?”

  He tried rubbing his face again. Still couldn’t move. What in God’s name was wrong with his arms? He stretched forward and leveraged against his aching shoulder sockets. The skin around his wrists stung and clarity slammed into him full force. “Did you handcuff me to a chair?”

  “Well, I couldn’t have you attacking me again, could I?” she asked.

  “Attacking you?” His attention snapped to her. No. He wouldn’t attack her. He’d decided not to go through with his end of the deal. They’d kissed. He’d locked himself in the bathroom to protect her and... His heart tripled in pace.

  “What is the compulsion?” Nika shifted in her chair, a flicker of pain streaking across her perfect, beautiful features.

  “What did you just say?” No. Wasn’t possible. But...the Deceiver had ambushed him in the bathroom. He’d fought to keep the bastard from getting to her. He’d blacked out, but not before...the compulsion. He struggled against the cuffs, every cell in his body focused on her. He scoured her for injuries, for any sign he’d given into the darkness. He sagged against the back of the chair, but couldn’t see any damage other than the blood staining the bandage taped to her shoulder. His jaw locked as guilt pierced through him. He should’ve been stronger. He should’ve fought harder. Son of a bitch. None of that mattered. His attention flickered to the gun in her free hand. The 9mm he’d confiscated from underneath her pillow. “Did I hurt you?”

  “How did Isabel get to you?” She’d frozen as though she hadn’t heard his question. His hands tingled with the urge to counteract the hard set of her jaw, but he wouldn’t go near her now. Not after what he’d done, what he’d allowed to happen. And the fact she might shoot him.

  But it wasn’t Isabel who’d put him under the compulsion. No. It’d been someone far more dangerous. To them both. “I don’t remember. Tell me what happened. What did I do?”

  “You followed me to the morgue. Burned the fingernail.” Sunlight reflected off the tears welling in her lower lids and his insides churned. She dropped her attention to the floor, elbows on her knees. Damn it. Isabel might’ve killed her sister, but he’d ripped any chance for answers right out of Nika’s hands. “I tried to stop you, but you’re a lot stronger than you look.”

  She’d knocked him out. That was what she’d meant about almost putting him in a coma. That was why she had the gun now. His head throbbed with a central focus on the back of his scalp. Bits and pieces of a white room, metal tables, and fire tore across his memory. The morgue. The terrified coroner. Him destroying the fingernail. No wonder she’d handcuffed him and kept her distance across the room. He collapsed back against the chair, cuffs loser now that he wasn’t fighting against them. She’d made the right decision. No way to be certain the compulsion didn’t have a hold on him now. “You knocked me out after I—”

  “Burned my sister’s body.” Her gaze snapped to him. “Do you remember that?”

  Dread soured his stomach. He couldn’t meet her eyes and instead focused on her soaked clothing. Her jeans and T-shirt clung to her like a second skin and outlined strong, lean muscle underneath. Perceptible tremors raced over her body, goose bumps prickling along her exposed skin. The morgue’s sprinklers had activated with the fire. He exhaled hard. How could he explain? How could he begin to repent for sabotaging her investigation? “I’m so sorry, Nika. I...”

  What? Didn’t have control over his own body? Wasn’t strong enough to fight against something she couldn’t possibly understand? She wouldn’t believe him.

  “You what?” she asked.

  A weighted coldness slithered fast under his skin. He’d spent the last year battling the beast inside. That should’ve made him stronger. The beast’s growl resonated at the back of his mind, but he drowned out the echo. The dumb animal had hidden when he should’ve fought back. It didn’t have any right to argue. Damn coward. How was he supposed to protect her against the Deceiver when he couldn’t protect himself?

  “I don’t know how to explain so that you’ll believe me.” The scent of her lavender shampoo carried strong on the breeze from the open window. He breathed it in deep to calm the fury and the beast. Worked too, faster than anything he’d encountered before. “All I can say is I’m sorry.”

  “I’ve seen some messed up stuff over the last day and a half. Stuff I didn’t think existed outside of my own head.” She stared at him, perfect lips parted, eyes full of something he didn’t recognize,
but didn’t move from her chair. Sunlight gleamed off the gun’s matte surface as she shifted. She shut her eyes with the movement. A rough exhale escaped past her lips. Pain. Isabel’s bite was infected. “But somehow I know the man who...burned Rachel’s body wasn’t you, Grayson.”

  Surprise flittered through him. “How do you know that?”

  “I saw it in your eyes. When you attacked me,”—she swept her tongue across her bottom lip—“I knew something wasn’t right. Your eyes were black. Like Isabel’s.” She locked her attention on him once again. “Plus a few other details.”

  No, no, no, no. Not yet. Nausea swirled in his stomach. His heart fought to restart the longer he stared at her, but he couldn’t get control. The beast he’d caged sat up at attention, ready to make its debut. He tried to swallow around the knot of heat building in his throat. She couldn’t know about his true nature. He’d been careful. Hadn’t he? The flashes of memory from the morgue proved useless. No talons. No elongated incisors. But that didn’t mean shit. Nika was one of the best damn detectives he’d ever come across. She’d figure out what he was sooner or later, but not now. He couldn’t lose her yet. “Like what?”

  “I could swear you...” A bubble of laughter rolled past her lips and she shook her head. “Nothing. The infection in my shoulder is just messing with my head.” She sat forward slightly. “How can Isabel influence you like that? And when did she have the chance to do it?” Nika focused one hundred percent on him as though he were the only person in the entire world. Hell, he liked that. Her attention. That, and the relief that bled through his muscles, was damn near orgasmic.

  She assumed Isabel had cast the compulsion. That could work for a while, keep her off the Deceiver’s scent. For her own protection. “I don’t remember. It must’ve been after you left to answer your phone.”

  “Too bad.” She dropped her hand from her shoulder. Black discharge escaped from the edges of the bandage and the surrounding tape. She leaned forward as if to stand, irises clouded, balance off. She licked her lips again as though her mouth had gone dry. Her eyelids dropped. Sweat gathered on her brow and raced down her neck. Shit. She needed help. Now. “I was hoping you had something that could help us track her down.”

  “Nika, we need to check that wound.” He nodded toward her shoulder.

  She slid her attention to her shoulder, but hit the floor.

  Panic bolted through him. Grayson stretched against the cuffs behind his back. She wasn’t moving. Didn’t seem to be breathing. He couldn’t waste a single second. His neck strained against the pressure, but he ripped the steel links apart with a hard tug. Lunging toward her, he scooped Nika up into his arms before he knew what he was doing. Her head fell back over his arm. Her cracked eyelids revealed black irises. Isabel’s taint had spread faster than he’d estimated. Soon, the darkness would tear her apart from the inside, and she’d never come back.

  Not an option.

  Her forehead rested against his arm, too hot. The fever would get worse. Cool her down. That was the only way to keep the infection at bay. Sweat gathered at the base of his spine. Handcuffs rattled around his wrists as he kicked open the bathroom door. Less than a couple hours ago, his lips had fed from hers, tasted her skin, and swallowed her down into him in the small space. He could still feel the echo of her heels digging into his low back, but circumstances had changed. Dropping her legs, he held her against him tight as he twisted the shower’s nozzle. Cold water pounded against the white tile and resurrected remnants of her flowery scent. He was running out of time.

  He lifted her over the edge of the tub then followed her in. Freezing water pelted him through his dress shirt and slacks, but he didn’t give a shit about his clothes. Nika. She was all that mattered. Breaking her fever would give them more time. He positioned her against him, her back to his chest. The back of her head rested on his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around her middle and held onto her as water poured over her heated skin. Lavender filled his lungs, deep and calming in the most chaotic of circumstances. He closed his eyes as the shower did its job. He couldn’t lose her. Wouldn’t.

  Her lips moved, but no sound escaped. Grayson couldn’t move, hypnotized by her strength, her ferocity, her determination to bring her sister’s killer to justice. No other mortal could’ve lived up to the task. Not against demons.

  The shower wasn’t helping. If anything her body temperature was rising, almost burning him through his clothing. He swallowed hard around the lump in his throat. It’d been a lifetime since he’d asked for help, but he had no other option. Her wound would get worse, dragging her deeper and deeper into darkness. Nika was his responsibility—he’d let Isabel get a hold of her—and if he had to condemn himself to Hell all over again to ensure her recovery, he’d do it. Even if it meant his final death.

  “I know you’re listening.” He angled his chin down on top of her head. Despite his parents shoving their Catholic ways down his throat, he’d never had the greatest relationship with his original maker. Investigating serial killers, recovering victims of their work, and helping the people they’d hurt had bled his faith right out of him. But he’d make an exception for her. He had to believe she’d wake up again. Otherwise, he had nothing left. No reason to keep going. His arms protested Nika’s weight, but he’d stand there all damn night until the Father intervened. Skin slick with water, she shifted in his hold. Her breath hitched. Such a small sound hiked his pulse into his throat. “Help her!”

  A wave of angelic power washed through him, cleansing, empowering, good. A figure claimed his attention outside the shower and he tensed. Tall, well over six and a half feet, with a thick beard running from ear to ear and wide, mountain-like shoulders. The beast inside sat up at attention. Growls ripped through the back of Grayson’s head. The angel that stood a few feet away, covered in silver battle armor, stared at him with the greenest eyes he’d ever seen. Thick muscle flexed dangerously around the armor. Only one angel in history resembled the man standing in front of him. Sorren, the Father’s general. The first Arch-angel.

  A broadsword at his waist gleamed from the weak light over the bathroom sink, but the warrior had yet to make a move. Goose pumps prickled along Grayson’s arms. Angels and demons didn’t make great company. It’d been the first lesson he’d learned after the Deceiver saved his life. Demons killed angels. Angels killed demons. The circle of life. He maneuvered Nika to his left arm. Shit. How fast could he get to his guns on the counter with her in his arms?

  “Do you mean that?” Sorren asked.

  He narrowed his eyes. “Mean what?”

  “That you’d damn yourself all over again,”—Sorren nodded toward the woman in his arms—“for her.”

  “Stay out of my head, seraph.” The beast readied for attack. His talons begged for release. Grayson pushed to his feet, but angled Nika away from the threat, giving him the best advantage. Soft whimpers shattered his concentration. Son of a bitch. He didn’t have time for this.

  “Even demons have the right to ask for help, but this is the first one has called on Him in my experience.” Sorren didn’t move. His hands rested at his side, but Grayson wasn’t fooled. Arch-angels, like Arch-demons, were the most powerful beings aside from the Father and the Deceiver. A single wrong move would end it all.

  “He sent you?” Relief battled for supremacy through his system, but the beast refused to let its guard down. Grayson didn’t blame him. No telling if Sorren had come to take advantage of his current weakness or he’d really showed up to save the one woman who’d started to matter to him. Nika’s skin, so warm, sent more than desperation for her to live through his veins. She’d worked her entire career in the name of punishing the bad, but had been repaid with even more evil. And the water wasn’t helping. He strengthened his hold around her waist. No way in hell he’d let an angel near her until they’d worked a few things out. “Prove it.”

  “There’s nothing I can do to force you to believe me.” Sorren smiled. “Free agency and all.”<
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  Grayson hesitated as the angel reached for Nika, not entirely willing to let her go. Although he’d asked for help from the Father, uncertainty surged through his veins. The Deceiver had a lot of tricks up his sleeve. It wouldn’t take much power for the bastard to impersonate an angel.

  “I’m here to help, Grayson. I give my word.” Those green eyes connected with his and filled him with trust, care. The Deceiver didn’t have the ability to replicate the sensation spreading inside and Grayson pulled Nika closer as he crouched inside the bathtub.

  “If you hurt her, I’ll rip you apart. You have my word.” He dropped his attention to Nika and memorized every freckle across her thin nose, every crack in her dry lips. What he wouldn’t give to have her look up at him with her fiery attitude, to hear her sensual voice, to feel her lips against his.

  “Understood.” Sorren slid his hand over her shoulder as he removed the tape and bandage from her skin.

  The beast surged forward. Mine. He snapped his jaw tight and dug his fingertips into her side. He locked onto her as though any second now Sorren would take her away. Not happening. His teeth lengthened at the thought, but a sharp inhale of her sweet scent doused the violent instinct in his gut.

  “Fight the beast, Grayson. You’re only making it harder for me to help her.” Sorren’s fingers brushed over the edges of Nika’s wound.

  Her skin glowed softly, illuminated by an inward yellow light that coursed beneath her skin. If possible, she grew even more beautiful as her racing heartbeat eased. The sheen of sweat on her brow washed away with the shower water and lightened the self-imposed weight on his sternum. “It’s working.”

  Her expression contorted into pain and she arched against him.

  “What’s happening? What did you do?” Adrenaline infused his blood as he secured her to his chest. Strained air scratched up his throat. Black lines spread under her skin like wildfire. Darkness swarmed around them. “It’s growing stronger. Get it out of her. Now!”